


Tease

by Anonymous



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thomas teases Silver and takes care of him.
Relationships: (background), Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver, Thomas Hamilton/John Silver
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Anonymous





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fic in maybe 6 years, and first time posting something so porny (or writing it). Posting anonymously because I'm quite nervous about this and it sure is unbetaed! Hope you like it even with all its flaws! Set in an nebulous future where Thomas and Flint and Silver are all together and they know the red/yellow/green safeword system-- I have no idea whether this is canon era or not! 
> 
> The title is, well, like that because I wrote this in all of two hours and couldn't find a song lyric or anything that felt appropriate here.

“It’s cute, how you think that’ll get you anywhere,” Thomas says, stilling his fingers. Silver-- tied face down, naked, to the bed, his ass in the air, tender from Thomas’s hands-- can’t see his face, but he imagines the smirk he’s seen many times before, when Thomas is toying with him. Thomas is crueller than Flint, more willing to stretch this out, to keep him aching. He looks forward to and dreads the nights that Thomas takes control equally: where Flint is a comfortable sort of control, now, a familiar settling in after so many nights, of fucking or just relaxing into him, Thomas takes and takes and takes, leaving him breathless and raw, stealing him from his own body and putting him back in. He always sleeps better after a scene with Thomas; his leg doesn’t dare bother him in the midst of such exhaustion. 

Obediently, he stills his hips, stops pressing his neglected cock into the pillows. He lets out a soft keen instead. He doesn’t like to talk much when he’s like this-- too much like his everyday job, too much like the conniving and schmoozing he does to keep the Walrus’s crew with the captain -- but he wants, desperately, for Thomas’s mercy, for him to finally fuck him instead of playing like this. It feels like it’s been hours. 

“Good boy,” Thomas says. John can practically hear the smirk on his face, but he shivers all the same. “Ah, you liked that, didn’t you? Always so eager for the smallest praise.” 

Thomas smoothes a hand down his side, but doesn’t stop moving his fingers, pressing lightly, so lightly, against his hole. Silver closes his eyes into the pillow, but it doesn’t make him feel any less overwhelmed. His knuckles are white on the rails of the headboard. He’s sure, afterwards, that his fingers will ache as much as the rest of him. 

“Thomas,” he tries, with a gasp. 

“Yes, dear?” Thomas says. He grabs at his arse where the skin is reddened and tender, and John is consumed by it, the sweetest sort of pain. 

“Fuck, I--” Silver starts. 

“Go on.” 

“Would you just--” Thomas drags his nails down his back, leaving sharp lines of red. “Please--” Thomas’s hands are in his hair now, pulling his head up by his curls, to look him in the eye. Silver can’t even find it in himself to be ashamed of how red he must be, how fucked out he must look, how tears threaten to spill from his eyes. 

“You do have to tell me, darling,” Thomas says. 

“Fuck me, please, just--” 

John gasps as Thomas releases his head with a chuckle, letting it thunk down onto the pillow again. He gasps again as Thomas finally, finally, presses into him, stretching him wide. He wishes James were here, that he could press his face against his thigh, that he would let him suck his cock or even just run his fingers through his hair, for some sort of quarter in this madness that is Thomas. 

But Flint isn’t here, to whisper with Thomas over his head; he’s off doing business, and Thomas isn’t holding back any longer, slamming into him, fast and hard like he can’t help it anymore, and he’s pressing against his prostate with every thrust, and John knows, knows, that he can’t come without Thomas’s permission, can’t even get leverage to push up into his thrusts, but the pillow underneath his hips-- 

Thomas stills. “What did I tell you?” 

“Sorry, fuck, it feels--” 

Thomas leans over him, a heavy weight on his back like he is all that exists, all that is holding Silver to the earth like he’d float away without it. It pushes him further into him, and John practically whimpers. 

“You think you get to decide when you come? That I don’t know your body enough to tell when you’re getting close? That this--” Thomas reaches underneath him and fists his cock roughly, too roughly, and it hurts. “That this belongs to you?” 

He doesn’t even sound out of breath. John can’t put words together at all, he’s sobbing, so overwhelmed with the need to come, at the ache in his shoulders and his wrists where he’s been rubbing up against the ropes, at the way that Thomas is putting all his weight on him, pressing against every place where he’s hurt him tonight. 

Thomas shifts, and runs his fingers through his hair, suddenly gentle. He slips out-- Silver lets out a whimper of loss-- and then is turning Silver over onto his back, kissing him. It’s all John can do to take it, to open up when Thomas takes control of the kiss. 

“What’s your color, love?” he asks. 

“Green,” John says. He’s hoarse, and painfully aware of how red he is, how hard he is, how much he wants in this moment. Thomas wipes the tears from his cheeks, and presses back in, and Silver can’t even press into the pillow anymore; all he can do is take it, and feel. And now there’s pressure, too, on the marks Thomas has left on his arse and thighs; he is one big mix of pleasure and pain, not competing but mixing with each other so that he can’t even remember which is which. 

He lets out a moan, and Thomas swallows it, like he’s devouring him, and fucks into him, hard, and it’s all he can do not to come untouched. 

“Please,” he says, when Thomas comes up for air. He grins, sharply, and John sees the Lord Hamilton James must have seen all those years ago, young and confident and so very determined to get what he wants. 

“Be good,” he says, and fucks him, and Silver feels hazy and sunlit; all there is is Thomas, and when Thomas stops and grinds his hips into him and says “Come, come on now John--” he feels like he’s exploding into light. 

\-- 

Thomas pulls out of a very sleepy and sated John Silver, extricating himself from a tangle of limbs. 

Silver lets out a soft wounded sound, and Thomas cups his cheek and kisses him. He looks soft, and completely without worry for once, and all Thomas wants to do is keep him, keep him warm and safe from the world. 

“I’ll be right back, I’m just getting you a washcloth,” he says. Silver grumbles but presses his face into the pillow, curling up like a cat. 

Thomas rushes to wet the cloth and back. It’s the work of moments to clean John up, and to wrap him up in his arms and then the blankets. 

“You did so well, so beautifully, John,” he says. “You were so good for me, just perfect.” 

John lets out a soft happy sound, and burrows into Thomas’s chest, and Thomas feels something well up in his chest at him, so vulnerable and beautiful like this. 

In the morning James will find them, the lamp still burning, curled up in each other, and slip quietly into the blankets behind John, and hold him, and kiss each of them in turn when they wake.


End file.
